


Impossible Tasks

by medusine



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Pre-Slash, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medusine/pseuds/medusine
Summary: Silver has a song in his head. Flint helps him understand why.





	Impossible Tasks

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for [moosefrog](https://moosefrog.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.
> 
> So of course this required research because I’m a geek. I found that _Scarborough Fair_ , a British folk song, was already quite well known the early 18th century. There are a lot of recorded lyrics and there were likely several different versions circulating back then. This allowed me to choose the lyrics that fit the story best.
> 
> If you don’t know what the song sounds like, the most famous version is by [Simon and Garfunkel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Jj4s9I-53g), and it’s really beautiful. Just keep in mind that the lyrics sung in the background are Simon and Garfunkel’s addition (an anti-war message) and don’t feature in the traditional song.

Silver was sprawled on his usual bench in the Captain's cabin, watching the sea outside. His stump was killing him, though he hoped not literally. The Maroon's poultices seemed to be keeping _that_ at bay, at least for now.

Flint was slumped on his desk, likely dozing, quill still in hand. Silver couldn't blame him. The sultry air and the soft roll of the ship would lull anyone to sleep. That, and Flint and Silver barely slept more than a couple hours before someone awoke them both by bursting into the Captain's cabin.

A tune was nagging at Silver's mind. He couldn't remember when he'd last heard it, but during his time in the Maroon camp it had surfaced in fragments, both beautiful and deeply annoying. He found himself humming it under his breath at the strangest of times.

_Tell him to buy me an acre of land..._

Silver closed his eyes, letting himself drift. The pain up his healthy leg, and hip, and lower back, was slowly starting to let up now that he was lying down. There was a gentle hum in the room, barely audible under the sound of the waves, that filled Silver with comfort.

_Tell him to buy me an acre of land,_  
_Sober and grave grows merry in time_  
 _Between the salt water and the sea sand,_

“For he once was a true love of mine.”

Silver frowned just a little, eyes still closed. The line had echoed in his mind in a graceful harmony, a harmony that warmed a part of Silver which he'd never realised was cold. Was he dreaming about this song, now?

“Tell him to plough it with a lamb's horn.”

It was Flint's voice. Silver had never remembered those words before; perhaps he'd never even known them. But he knew the next refrain, and tentatively sang along Flint's voice.

“Sober and grave grows merry in time.”

Their joined voices sent a shiver through Silver, as though somehow the tune was vibrating up his spine.

“And sow it all over with one peppercorn,”

Flint's voice was soft and melodious, its inflections melancholic. Never in his wildest dreams could Silver have guessed Flint's usual haughty, harsh tones concealed something like this.

“Then he shall be a true love of mine.”

As the last notes died in Silver's throat, the harmony still buzzing within him, he waited for Flint to start the next verse. His stomach dropped when silence fell in the room again. Silver opened his eyes. Flint had straightened slightly on his seat, and put his quill down. Those were the only signs that the song hadn't been a dream.

“I didn't know you could sing,” Silver said quietly.

Flint shrugged. “No better or worse than most sailors.”

Silver had heard most sailors sing and he disagreed heartily with that statement, but he let it slide. “That wasn't a sea shanty, though,” he said instead.

“No, it wasn't.”

It was a love song. Only now did Silver realise exactly _what_ they'd been singing. He played the song back in his mind, making sense of it now that Flint had filled the gaps in the lyrics.

“An impossible love, then,” Silver murmured to himself.

“Mm?”

He hadn't meant to say it out loud. “The song. It's about never being worthy of someone's love. There is no land between the sea and the sand. Lambs don't have horns, and you can't sow a field with a single peppercorn.”

Flint turned around slowly. Silver braced himself for a sombre glare, cutting words, perhaps even some snapped order to shut up about songs. But there were no traces of that on his face. Instead there was a gleam in his eye that Silver had never seen before.

“You were the one humming it, you know,” Flint said with a hint of a smile.

The observation crashed onto Silver like a wave, robbing him of air, flattening him to the sand.

“Just the sober and grave part,” he said defensively, but now that he looked into Flint's face, Silver realised just why those words had popped into his head. He thought about Flint too often for his own good, these days.

“And the true love part,” Flint pointed out, his tone casual but his face quite earnest.

“Well, it rhymes,” was the best retort Silver could find. Cold sweat was beading at his forehead, and god, he hoped he wasn't blushing under Flint's terrible gaze. Those eyes were always trying to bore down into places Silver never wanted anyone to see.

“It's an assonance, rather than a rhyme, but fair point,” Flint said. He smiled a little, and Silver couldn't for the life of him figure out the look on his face, except that it was gentle and terrifying all at once.

“If you don't mind, I think I'll doze for a while longer,” Silver said, shifting on the bench so that he faced the window rather than Flint. It was either that or trying to high-tail it out of the cabin, and he wasn't sure his sore leg would carry him.

Flint gave a small nod, and turned back to his desk. Silver relaxed when he heard the scratch of Flint’s quill on the paper. He felt like someone who’d just been licked by a whirlwind and barely resisted being drawn in.

Just as he was drifting off again, Flint's soft voice rose in the room. Silver made no sound, listening as his heart burst into a flutter, barely daring to breathe.

“If you say that you can't, then I shall reply,  
Sober and grave grow merry in time,  
Oh, Let me know that at least you will try,  
Or you'll never be a true love of mine.”

Silver smiled to himself as he took in the new verse’s words. Was it a message? A warning? It probably meant nothing, he decided. A song was just a song.

With a slight shake of his head at his own foolishness, Silver sank deep into sleep.


End file.
